


He stood in the Eye of the Hurricane

by Luca_Crimson



Series: Stigma of the Wind [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Elemental Magic, Genderfluid Character, Hogwarts Third Year, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multi, No character bashing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pop Culture, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Regulus Black Lives, Seer Luna Lovegood, Slytherin Harry Potter, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luca_Crimson/pseuds/Luca_Crimson
Summary: Third year of the Stigma of the Wind series. This builds heavily on the first two years + interlude stories of this series, so you should have read those before reading this, I fear this won't make a lot of sense otherwise.





	1. Lumos! – by John Williams (from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finally managed to write down the first chapter. And let me tell you, it was a chore to write, despite a fully written plot plan. But at least I know where I'm going with this, so hopefully updates will be more regular.  
> I am also in desperate need of a beta-reader. I just don't have any idea how to get into contact with one. If anyone knows/is willing to help me out, I'd appreciate it a lot if you drop me a comment.  
> Speaking of comments, I love them, I reply. Tell me what you think about my writing, whatever that may be.

_“Destroying the Locket”_

_By Alexandre Desplat_

_(from “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 1”)_

Blaise stood inside of a gothic hallway. It was mostly veiled into darkness, the kind of darkness that breathes. The kind of darkness that hides something. The grey light falling in from one of the broken windows leeched the colour out of everything, making the stone of the hallway seem white, whereas Blaise himself looked as if he was completely black. As black as the darkness. Part of the shadows.

He held a hand in front of himself, directly into the light. Even under the moon his skin was black, as if it was swallowing the light. At the same time, his skin crawled, both literally and figuratively. A feeling of unease rose from somewhere deep in his gut. His skin moved as if it was made from smoke or liquid, oil, blood, something.

He felt goose bumps rising on his neck, as if he was being watched. As if something was prowling behind him in the shadows, only waiting for him to let his guard down, so that it could –

Instinctively Blaise stepped fully into the moonlight. But still he could he feel the eyes of something – someone – in the darkness, waiting, wanting, its fangs bared, waiting for the chance to attack. Waiting, not wanting to step into the light just yet. Waiting for Blaise to think himself safe. Waiting for Blaise to let his guard down.

Blaise looked at this hand again. His fingers, palm, hell, his entire arm was shaking. He grabbed it with his other hand, but that only made it worse. He pressed his forearms close to his sides, and gripped his wrist even tighter. Finally the shaking abated. He glanced at this fingers, then into the darkness in front of him, only to reel back and stare at his fingers in shock. His fingers were surrounded by smoky curls, as if they were slowly dissolving in the air. He made a fist, but the smoke like tendrils didn’t stop. On the other hand, his hand seemed to be just fine. The process was fascinating, it was as if his hand was oozing shadows.

Blaise shook himself free of his reverence. This had to be a nightmare. But he never had nightmares. He didn’t have dreams in general, part of being an incubus was the unfortunate inability to have dreams on his own. The dreams of others he would be able to manipulate as he liked as soon as he hit his inheritance. But having dreams himself was impossible. Sleeping was just blackness or slipping into other people’s dreams? Had he stumbled into a dream again? If so then whose was it?

There was ethereal laughter coming from the shadows around him. Blaise looked around hastily. Being trapped in another person’s nightmare didn’t bode well for the interloper if they didn’t have a way out. Blaise stared at his hands again, darkness still dripping from his fingers like ink into water.

The ghostly laughter seemed to gather right in front of him, as if the darkness was thickening. As if it actually became sentient. Blaise gasped for air, trying to remain calm. The ground shook. Underneath him, crack appeared in the stones. To hell with remaining calm, he was so out of here!

With one last look at the thickening darkness he burst into a sprint into the opposite direction. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a cloud of shadows follow after him, still laughing. He ran faster, almost flying down the hallway.

Behind him, doors flew open, bathing the hallway in golden light. Blaise didn’t pay them any heed, he needed to get out of here. He kept running, faster and faster. The cracks in the ground were still spreading, albeit as soundless as before.

Then there was the sound of shattering glass, the ground beneath him fell into a sea of darkness. And all around him there was black, black, black.

_Accept me!_

Blaise shot up in bed, screaming. At first he couldn’t see anything, only darkness. He felt it pressing down on him, filling his lungs.

Then finally the last of the dream, vision, whatever, lifted off of him, letting him see. Letting him breathe.

With a sigh he sank back into bed, though sleep evaded him until the sun rose behind the roofs of London.

 

_“Lumos!”_

_By John Williams_

_(from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”)_

**[Lucius Malfoy – Malicious Murderer or Unknowing Victim?**

_By Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter_

My dear readers, this reporter had the chance to sneak behind the scenes of the highly polarising Malfoy trial! For those of you who don’t know yet, Lucius Malfoy smuggled a dark artefact into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last term. The artefact itself possessed an innocent first year, opened the Chamber of Secrets and unleashed what is now confirmed to have been a Basilisk unto the unsuspecting student population.

Slytherin’s Monster claimed several victims, of all houses and blood type. They remained petrified for most of the term. The school was about to close last June as no culprit had been found and it seemed the Heir of Slytherin would claim his first death. That’s right, my dear readers, the Artefact belonging to the Heir had lured its host body into the Chamber of Secrets to kill them and overtake their body. But have no fear! In Hogwarts’ greatest hour of need a hero arose. This reporter couldn’t find who they were, but they must be a witch or wizard strong enough to brave even the darkest of forces. Now this dashing knight in shining armour rescued the first year, slayed the Basilisk and saved the school!

But then the real scandal happened my dear readers! As Lucius Malfoy stepped into the school to sue them for endangering his son and heir, Draco Malfoy, the young boy revealed that the artefact (a small unassuming Diary, can you believe it?) had been in his father’s possession until last summer!

Now the question remains, was Lucius Malfoy a mastermind behind those terrifying events? Did he knowingly endanger our children’s live for a bit of revenge against the first year’s family? Or was he just as much of a victim as the ones petrified? We don’t know yet, my dear readers, but this reporter is sure to find out the truth. So far, with both his wife and son testifying against him, it sure doesn’t look good for Lord Malfoy, however long he may remain a Lord.]

 

Godric raised a single eyebrow while reading the article. He himself found newspapers to be a wonderful thing to keep in touch with what was happening in the world. But he also found that most big publications in Wizarding Great Britain sorely lacked any journalistic quality.

So far, Rita Skeeter was one of the worst. It was therefore surprising that she had been factually accurate albeit a bit crude for most of this article. Perhaps she thought the whole ordeal scandalous enough without adding her usual flare of hyperbole and rumours into it. Godric certainly agreed with her, if that was the case.

So far, Lucius Malfoy had spent the rest of June, all of July and so far all of August in a Ministry holding cell. No one had trusted the man around his wife and son. Astoundingly logical thinking, Godric mused, considering the rather…backwards ways of thinking that seemed to be so popular in these times.

The article itself was from yesterday, today’s coverage of the trial had mostly been in preparation for the actual trial this day, as well as the Special Edition of the Prophet that was going to announced the trial’s outcome as well as possible consequences for future politics. The latter was mostly about who was going to take over the Malfoy seats and how it affected the Dark sector.

Godric himself couldn’t care less about the what ifs of the situation as long as Lucius Malfoy remained far away from his loved ones. Said loved ones were dozing on the couch, all piled up on one another from last night’s movie Marathon of Indiana Jones. Hermione had insisted they watch it, and as no one dared to oppose the Lady Ravenclaw when she wanted something, they had watched all four movies and most of the TV Series. Then they had played the Lego game series until they fell asleep. All in all it had been a wonderful lazy Sunday.

Right now though it was nearing noon and thus far none of them had actually moved on their own free will. He had dragged Angiola, Hermione, Salazar and Sirius out of the puppy pile, as they had needed to attend the trial in their functions of Ladies and Lords. Salazar had offered to vote for him, so that Godric could remain home and prepare breakfast for the kids.

A sound plan as it turned out as exactly at 12 o’clock Harry and Theo began to stir. They both waddled over into the kitchen. Godric would’ve hugged his son, were it not for the fact that Harry was thirteen, and probably didn’t want to be cuddled in front of most his friends.

To his surprise and delight, Harry himself tumbled over to Godric and leaned against him before wrapping his arms around him. A content puff of breath brushed against Godric’s back. The redhead smiled. The smile brightened into a joyful grin when he saw the rest of the group making their way over. The twins were carrying an unwilling Cedric Diggory, Blaise settled himself on the counter, wrinkling his nose at the golden sunlight as if it had personally offended him. Daphne was the most composed one, managing to pour herself tea before sinking onto the kitchen bench

Regulus staggered over, only to promptly fall back asleep with his head in Daphne’s lap. The girl in question simply patted the younger boy’s fluffy hair, muttering “Fluffy boy, fluffy boy,” not really all there yet. Theo himself was reaching for the sugar lumps, but luckily Daphne absent-mindedly took them from him and began to pat Theo’s hair as well, once she had deposited the sugar lumps out of his reach. “There, there,” she murmured.

Godric held back a snort of amusement, before charming the finished breakfast to float over to the table. With Harry still firmly attached to his back, he walked over, before lifting Harry onto his lap and sat down. He felt his son snuggle deeper into his shirt and began to prepare some bread roles for both of them.

He felt Daphne pat his back, running her fingers along his hair, whispering “pretty, pretty hair” as if she was letting Godric in on a secret. He was used to the girl’s sleepy antics by now. He certainly didn’t mind as well.

 

It took them some time to fully wake up and have breakfast, or rather lunch at this point, but it was the summer holidays, and after last year, Godric couldn’t find in himself to scold them for it. Harry had crawled out of Godric’s lap once he was fully awake to have his bread roles. Soon enough after the teenagers had started a heated discussion about the different house teams that mostly consisted of trash talking and boasting. It was another thing that relaxed Godric, to see them so relaxed, acting their age for once in a while.

The floo flared green, and three people four people stepped out. Godric smiled and stood up to greet Salazar, pulling the dark haired man to his chest. Salazar made a noise of happy confusion. “I’m just happy to be here, with you. And our family,” Godric whispered into Salazar’s hair. It had been six years. Six, not even counting all the flailing he had done in his original life. Six years of missing, and longing and not being sure if the other was still interested. It was time to stop being a coward and follow his own damn house values. To be brave with his heart once again.

He felt arms snake around his waist. “I too am happy to be here,” whispered Salazar. And that was that. Anything else would have time for later, but they had both taken that first step. Finally.

There were owl screeches before not one, not two, but nine owls landed on the breakfast table. Seven of them were carrying Hogwarts letters, probably the book lists. Two of the owls carried two letters as they were for members of the same family. Fred and George sent their owl towards the Burrow, before opening their lists.

The remaining two owls carried the Daily Prophet and a package with markings of international owl post across it. Godric grabbed the first and inspected the second, surprised to find that it was for Harry.

Harry too looked a bit stumped at the heavy packet that was handed to him, enough to ignore his booklist for now.

 

_“The Book”_

_By Nicholas Hooper_

_(from “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”)_

Regulus watched as Harry unwrapped the package. The Paper was stiff, like fine stationary. There weren’t any edges, the whole packaging seemed to be made up from a sphere of paper. It was like a second skin, as if someone had charmed the paper onto the package, only that no such charm existed.

The youngest Black felt rather than saw his friend use his winds. There was a short gust of air, a near silent hiss and the paper fell away. By now Hermione had come to the table, snatching the paper away, holding it up against the light. “Fascinating,” she muttered, pressing her nose, then her ear against the paper, “It was neither charmed, nor bewitched. This is something I have never seen before. There is no residue wild magic left over as in parchment and normal paper. It’s as if this piece of paper has been created out of something else entirely. Not pure magic, since it hasn’t been conjured…” she kept on muttering fascinated by the texture.

Harry meanwhile had inspected the contents of the package, namely a wooden box, and a letter. The letter – thankfully – seemed to be made of completely normal parchment. Harry opened it and began to read, looking at the box, then reading further, before giving a calculating glance over everyone in the room. Finally he kept reading until the end. He folded the letter and ran his hands along the wooden box (which also seemed to be made out of one piece). He then looked at everyone. First at the twins and Cedric, before quickly looking at Daphne, Theo, and Hermione. They too were considered and then…Regulus wouldn’t call it dismissed, but it was as if Harry was looking for something specific and hadn’t found it yet. He wondered what it could be. Each person he had looked at so far was completely unique. Regulus shifted his eyes between the box and the letter. What could possibly be in there that had Harry so indecisive? Normally Harry made his decisions within seconds, often going through with them without much debate. The only ones who he could then be stopped by were Hermione, Blaise, and occasionally Daphne and Cedric. To see Harry this lost in thoughts was a sure sign that an opportunity of delicate nature had presented itself to him and he needed time to think of how to best proceed.

Regulus looked up when he felt blue eyes on him. Harry’s eyes where locking onto his, evaluating him. The thought itself didn’t feel as cold as it should have. Harry didn’t look to analyse his friends, knowing their strengths as well as his own. But he always sought to make sure either task was truly fitted for them. Otherwise he’d give it to someone else or pair them up. Regulus sat upright, not backing down. The stare was a challenge. Harry wanted to know if Regulus would be able to do whatever needed to be done with the contents of that box. And he was. He had proven himself to be capable enough in the Chamber of Secrets. He could handle whatever was in that box.

Apparently, Harry seemed to think the same, because he nodded with a smile and said: “It’s for you.”

Regulus pulled the box to himself. Now that he saw it up close, he saw the different symbols and arrays that had been pressed into the wood. Or maybe, if Hermione’s theory was right, and both the paper and the wood had been grown from something else, then maybe the symbols where grown into the wood.

With the tip of his wand he pushed into the central circle.

It was as if slowly his magic filled each indent in the wood like water. When all arrays where filled, the box fell apart into earth and a single acorn. Hermione stared: “Amazing. I’ve never seen such magic.”

“That’s because it isn’t magic,” Regulus whispered, no less in awe. Because inside of the box was a heavy, leather-bound tome, held closed with seven locks. The title was pressed into the thick cover of the book, emblazoned in bronze: “The Secrets big and small of the forgotten and most obscure Art of Alchemy”. Beneath the title, written in gold were the words: “researched, compounded, and written by Nicholas Flamel and illustrated by Perenelle Flamel”

“How?” he asked no one in particular.

“In our first year, we saved the Philosopher’s stone and hid it from Dumbledore. Then Salazar returned it to the Flamels and apparently they gathered all their knowledge to create that grimoire. I can’t use Alchemy because of my Contractor powers, so I gave it to you. It should make for an interesting read at least,” Harry said, handing him a single key on a chain.

“I…thank you,” Regulus whispered, cradling the .key in his hands.

The book title shone brightly in the sun light. The book itself seemed to send out little waves of power, almost springing open in its desire to share its knowledge with the world. That was probably the reason for the locks. Because that wisdom was for the owner’s eyes only. For Regulus’ eyes only.

He couldn’t suppress a giddy smile as he hung the key around his neck. He could barely wait to explore all the mysteries Alchemy had to offer.

 

_“Two Hornpipes”_

_By Hans Zimmer_

_(from “Pirates of the Caribbean 2”)_

As they were walking along Diagon Alley, Daphne couldn’t hold herself quite back anymore: “So, how did it go?”

Hermione gave a sigh: “Well, we managed to get him fully booted from his position as Lord Malfoy. Technically Draco holds that title now, but the court has ruled that Narcissa is to be proxy until he turns seventeen. I think it has something to do with the fact that I am already in the Wizengamot, despite being underage. Those old folks probably want to hold on to their illusion of power for just a while longer.”

“And the rest of the sentence?” Theo asked, looking concerned at Hermione’s dissatisfied expression.

“There’s the problem. We could barely get the restraining order to stick. So we had to broker a deal that lessened prison sentence, but a life-long prohibition to ever get close to Narcissa and Draco again. But he is spending the next five years in Azkaban. They’re transporting him on the 1st of September.”

“It’s something at least,” Cedric muttered, “One less thing to worry about and all that.”

“That sounds like you’ve heard it somewhere,” Hermione trailed off.

Cedric shrugged: “You guys mentioned Luna. So the twins and I decided to visit her. She was expecting us, seriously that girl has a gift. So we got to talking and she kept dropping hints that she knew exactly why were there. In the end she muttered some lines, about “Not throwing away our shot”, and “One less thing to worry about” was in there too. When we asked she just said that it would make sense in a few years when and I quote: “A certain someone would take me to Broadway”. I have no clue what she meant, please don’t ask me.”

“Is she meeting us here?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I also brought a friend, if you don’t mind,” everyone whirled around to see Luna Lovegood in the middle of their group, arm linked with one Ginny Weasley who looked happy to be there, but also ready to fight someone.

“So you really do see the future,” Harry breathed, amazed by the fact the Luna had been able to pick up on their vague plans to integrate both her and Ginny into the group.

“Not quite as good as I one day will, but good enough to know where I need to be,” Luna said, smile beaming but her eyes were faraway.

“Then am I right to assume that we all will become great friends, Miss Lovegood, Miss Weasley?” Blaise said, grinning like a cat who got the canary, despite his heavy eye bags.

“Luna explained a bit, and after last year…I think I’d like being part of your group,” Ginny said, with her shoulders pulled back, radiating confidence.

Daphne and Hermione high-fived. “Finally some girls as well,” Daphne grinned, while Hermione did a happy little victory dance.

 

It was after a long afternoon of shopping and joking with each other, when they made their way back. The sun had already set behind the buildings, casting the sky in a beautiful mix of red, pink, and orange.

“I had fun today,” whispered Ginny as she hugged Regulus goodbye.

“Come find us on the train then, there’s always some space, and extension charms are a miracle,” he whispered back.

With a grin Ginny locked arms with Luna again before disappearing into the floo system. The twins and Cedric promptly followed them.

Daphne bid her goodbyes as well, and joined her family at the apparition point.

Sirius leaned back to get a good look at the sky. “You know, Angel, we should really go star gazing…”

The “sometime” wasn’t heard anymore because Sirius Orion Black had disappeared into thin air.

TBC


	2. “The Will” – by Alexandre Desplat (from "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 1")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Regulus has a bit of a panic attack at the very beginning. The first 12 paragraphs to be exact. There is a clear line directly after, so just look for the bigger space between paragraphs.
> 
> This chapter has been beta-read by Emariia, so kudos to her.  
> I actually wanted to post this yesterday already, but our WiFi connection decided to have another mid-life crisis and was therefore fully uncooperative.

Regulus could only stare at the spot where his brother had been seconds ago. To be honest, he didn’t actually feel anything. Which was rather surprising. To feel so unmoved by something so big. _You’re experiencing shock syndromes._ His brain provided in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione.

“Reg. Regulus. You have to breathe,” said another voice. This one close to his ear. A hand on his shoulder. He turned towards the voice. Daphne. Regulus gasped. A small painful noise. He sounded so weak even to his own ears.

Daphne pulled him close. That was unusual. “It’s okay. Just breathe. Breathing is good.”

He tried to breathe, but whenever he tried to establish a pattern, whimpers broke through his exhales, and his inhales were more a swallowing of air, rather than actual breathes. There wasn’t enough air in his lungs. Water. There was water in his lungs, he was going to drown, he was dying and he couldn’t breathe. Hands. Cold, dead hands were grasping at him, pulling him down and there wasn’t enough air because of the water filling his lungs.

And then suddenly there was too much air. There was a static electricity in the air, as if a storm was about to break loose. And there were hands still clawing at him and he couldn’t breathe. And there wasn’t water, there was a storm, there were winds whipping around, him. And there was Daphne, still clinging to him, the only thing pulling him from the water. And the hands. They pawed at his skin, phantom like and cold, so cold. Colder than hands should be.

And there were voices all around, yelling different names. Someone was calling for Blaise, oh Merlin, Blaise. He needed to get to Blaise! He struggled in Daphne’s arms.

“Shhh, it’s okay, everyone is alright. You aren’t in that cave anymore. You are here. In Diagon Alley. They can’t touch you anymore,” another voice said. Salazar. Finally Regulus could focus enough to actually see what was happening. Salazar, covered in thin cuts was holding his face and helping Daphne to anchor him in the here and now.

Finally he could breathe.

“Sirius,” he whispered. His brother had vanished. And no one seemed to be doing anything. Why weren’t they doing anything? Sirius could be dying right now.

“He is fine. This is okay. He’ll be back, I promise,” before Regulus could ask how he knew that, Salazar added, “Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

He released Regulus face then, allowing him to look around at the debris slowly reforming itself.

“Harry had a bit of a tantrum,” Daphne explained, “So did Blaise by the way, though his was much more contained.”

Regulus nodded weakly before the exhaustion caught up with him and he slipped into Morpheus’ welcoming arms.

 

Regulus woke up to an empty stomach that demanded to be fed. Reluctantly he pulled himself out of bed and shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen. “Morning,” he mumbled at Angiola, or rather Angiolo. The incubus had changed into his male form. From what Regulus knew about Incubi and Succubi, or Lilim demons as they preferred to be called, this was a protective instinct. Mostly Lilim demons switched gender at whim, not caring much for what they perceived as “constructs of humanity”. In a dangerous situation however, they mostly stayed in the form that was taller and more intimidating to possible threats. In Angiolo’s case, his male form was the more physically intimidating one. He had a good ten inches on Angiola, and was far broader as well.

A mate suddenly disappearing did most definitely count as a dangerous situation. And despite them not being officially bonded, it seemed Angiolo had instinctively reacted to Sirius’ case of spontaneous vanishing.

It was rather ridiculous, Regulus mused. The ministry regulated such things as underage magic, and who could bond to whom, but they didn’t give a rat’s ass about more important things like corruption, social inequality, and racism. And people couldn’t even bond in secret. Not without a priest saying the spell, and the Ministry kept even closer tabs on priests than they did on underage wizards.

Technically a priest could claim it had been the environmental magic, but the Ministry was more than happy to use prior incantato on priest wands. There even was a law that allowed aurors to drop by unannounced at any time and perform the spell. So no priest dared to perform an unlawful bonding, as the penalty for “aiding in a bonding against nature’s laws” was at best a one way trip to Azkaban and at worst an instant kiss from the Dementors.

Regulus groaned at the thought of what the ministry had managed to cook up within only the last twelve years. He dreaded what they would come up with next.

“What has you so grumpy this early in the morning?” Angiolo asked, while waving some French toast and bacon towards Regulus.

“I just thought about the ministry, and about its stupidity,” grumbled Regulus while helping himself to the bacon, “It’s better than thinking about Sirius at least.”

“You are taking this remarkably well,” Angiolo mused as he poured himself another cuppa, “Better than Harry, and way better than Blaise.”

“You, Sal, and Ric said it’s gonna be okay. I’m pretty sure the letters from Ragnok and Ollivander are going to say the same. So what else can I do other than waiting until it’s gonna be okay?” Regulus huffed, “It’s not like complaining will suddenly make time go by faster. Might as well focus on other things.”

“Like the Ministry?” Angiolo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like figuring out what everyone chose as their new subjects, because they refuse to tell me,” Regulus deflected, not wanting to get into that particular rant before he had stuffed himself sufficiently with toast and bacon.

 

The first of September always brought a rush of motion into the Weasley household. Ginny only looked on as Ron threw every piece of clothing he could get his hands on into his trunk. Why on earth her brother left packing to the very last minute she would never know. The twins weren’t much better to be honest. And she remembered Charlie being a downright disaster when it came to timely packing. To be honest, the only ones who seemed to have learned from Bill’s example were herself and Percy. And even she, herself, had only started to pack a few days in advance after the disaster that had been last year.

Last year. She had been possessed. Had been made to do things she never would have done on her own. Things so horrible she hadn’t been able to imagine them before. The blank spaces in her memory would probably always remain. She didn’t know whether or not to be thankful for that.

She remembered being scared. Remembered hoping someone would save her. That Daniel Potter would save her. But when she woke up down in the Chamber, it hadn’t been Daniel Potter, but a terrified Regulus Black and a seemingly dead Hadrian Emrys-LeFay who had saved her.

And for that she knew to be grateful. Both for the save, and the offer of friendship. An offer she happily accepted. They were new. They were so different from what she had grown up with. But mostly, they didn’t judge her on her family. They didn’t judge her on anything but herself. Not even on the things she had done under Riddle’s influence.

And their shopping trip had been so relaxing. Sure, they were all pretty much crazy, but they were also the most open-minded people she had ever met, except perhaps Charlie and Bill.

They had invited her to sit with them. It was a wonderful feeling to be invited somewhere on your own merits, and not because of your older brothers or because you knew Daniel Potter. Besides, Luna would be there too. And Regulus. Somehow, her mind drew a distinction between Luna and Regulus, but her thoughts didn’t differentiate between Luna and say, her brothers. It was so weird. But yes, Regulus would be there too.

 

“This is the only free compartment, we aren’t gonna fit,” she heard Regulus say.

“That’s what extension charms are for,” Harry answered.

“Do you really want to overwhelm the recruits that much?” Daphne said.

“Please don’t call them that,” Hermione’s voice sounded muffled as if she talking through something. She was probably face-palming.

“You know what?” said another voice, probably Blaise, “I’ll grab Reggie, Daphy, and Draco-dear and do some posturing in the Slytherin part of the train. That’s four down.”

“You’re still trying to put eight people onto six seats, five if you count the man already sitting in there,” Regulus protested.

“Extension. Charms. They exist,” Harry repeated with emphasis.

“How about,” Cedric started in a placating voice, “The twins and I join Lee Jordan in his compartment? I’m also taking Theo with me, since I’m on sugar guarding duty. That’s another four people, and now you all fit.”

“You know what?” Hermione sighed, “By now I’ll take just about anything. Let’s get going, the train’s about to depart.”

Only now did Ginny dare make herself known. Everyone turned to her. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks: “Sugar guarding duty?”

“Oh,” Hermione laughed, “that. Yeah, Theo’s bound to go into a manic state of constant amusement when he eats sweets. He then continues to entertain himself in questionable ways, to the pain and suffering of everyone around him. The last time he stuffed himself he stuck a jelly bean into Professor Snape’s ear, and another time he lit Solomon’s rose garden on fire. So, to reduce more traumatic incidents as well as property damage, we’ve started a guarding system where we keep him away from all things that contain sugar.”

“Oh…wow,” Ginny said, unsure of what else there was to say.

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to do that. It’s mostly Ced, Daph, and me. Though Luna volunteered on helping,” Hermione wrapped an arm around her shoulders and showed her into the compartment. There was a man in worn clothes sleeping in the corner, but otherwise it was fully empty. She sat down, hearing Luna and Harry settle in next to her. Hermione made herself comfortable on the seat by the door, the middle seat between her and the stranger remaining empty.

“Who is that?” Ginny asked.

“From the sign on his luggage, his name is R. Lyall Lupin. I guess he’s the new Defense professor.”

“Oh yeah, Sirius mentioned a Lupin. He and Severus were Daniel’s godparents before the Potters changed them out for “more suitable people”,” Harry scoffed.

“Speaking of new professors, what subjects are you guys taking?”

Luna laughed at that: “Oh, that’s interesting, it’s gonna be so important down the line,” she added in a whisper.

Harry gave the sort of fond smile people rarely gave Luna. It was as if he had an innate understanding of how different she was, yet wasn’t bothered by it. To Ginny he said: “It’s rather funny. None of us took the same combination of subjects. Hermione, and Theo are taking Muggle Studies, Blaise, Hermione, Daphne and I are taking Arithmancy. Then Draco, Blaise and Hermione are taking Care of magical Creatures. In Ancient Runes we have Draco, Theo, Hermione, and myself. And yours truly passed over Divination, but Daphne, and Hermione are giving it a try.”

“You sure are taking a lot of classes, Hermione,” Ginny commented, trying for light-hearted but only managing “nervous little girl being introduced to her elder sibling’s cool friend”.

“Oh, it’s nothing I can’t manage. And I don’t want to miss out on anything. The Hogwarts curriculum is already limited as it is. I mean under Dumbledore, many of the old classes were either fused or fully scratched from the schedule. It’s rather sad, actually.”

“I didn’t know that,” Ginny said, not sure how to feel about this new information.

Hermione gave a smile that was a mix between proud, and understanding. But her voice was mostly understanding and free of smugness when she said: “Well, now you do.”

“There’s mixed opinions about the current classes. I must admit, scratching Alchemy was actually an understandable choice. Not many pursue the art anymore, and there are few who actually have the skills to learn it. Much like divination, to be honest. On the other hand, duelling and spell crafting were classes essential for both survival in combat situations, as well as bringing innovation into our society, especially spell crafting.”

“So you aren’t saying Dumbledore is all bad?” Ginny wondered. From how Daniel and her brother had ranted about the group, she had thought of them as avid haters of the Light.

“His main goal, the equality of all witches and wizards, is right. It’s his other goals, and the way he goes about achieving his goals that we have a problem with,” Harry explained, “Same with the Dark Side. They want to make the old traditions legal again, which is great, but everything else they argue for nowadays is pretty shitty. What I’m trying to say is, see in different shades of grey. Because no one ever profits from a polarised society.”

“But doesn’t that make voting that much more complicated?” Ginny asked.

“Perhaps. But the world itself is pretty complicated, so why would deciding where we’re going be easy? The way to a better future for everyone may not be all that difficult, but finding it is bound to be tricky,” Harry said with a swiping hand motion.

“Try to understand where the different sides of a debate are coming from and you’ll see that finding your opinion becomes much easier,” Hermione added.

Ginny nodded, her head swirling with new thoughts: “Can you teach me?”

Hermione’s grin was broad and promised secrets being spilled: “Oh my dear Miss Weasley, I thought you’d never ask.”

Luna kept on smiling serenely.

 

_“The Dementors Converge”_

_By John Williams_

_(from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”)_

The trolley lady didn’t just bring sweets this year. Hermione eagerly paid for the prophet. Today’s front page article wasn’t written by Skeeter, meaning that she wasn’t likely to have written anything else in the paper. So for just this day, the prophet might actually be the quality newspaper people needed it to be to get some information on what was going in the magical world.

Aside from not being written by Skeeter, then front page news weren’t all that interesting. Thus, Hermione found herself skimming through the paper, until she got to the very back of today’s edition:

**[THE PLOT THICKENS! – DOUBLE ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!**

_By special correspondent Rita Skeeter_

My dear readers, this reporter has heard the following news just before this paper was sent to the printers. Therefore my voice can only reach the most diligent of you, but tell your family, friends, and neighbours: The impossible has been done! There was a double escape in the wee hours of morning from the notorious Isle of Azkaban. We all thought we were safe, but readers, we were wrong!

As Lucius Malfoy, convicted aide in the attacks of Hogwarts, was transported into his cell, he overwhelmed the guard by means we aren’t yet sure of. He took the man’s wand and made his way through the prison, busting out prisoners left and right. In the ensuing chaos, it was only when dawn arose that the guards noticed that Malfoy had made his escape with his notorious sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange.

What are his motives? How did he overpower the guard? And why Lestrange? Well, whenever the answers come to light, you will be the first to know. But be on your guard, Britain, for there are two people unafraid of mass murder running about!]

 

Harry felt more than heard the train jerk into a halt. He could however, hear the ice forming on the windows. Sudden cold seeped into the compartment, and then the train jolted sideways. The lights flickered out, but from the dim light outside he could still see the ghostly blue of his breath in the icy air.

Something was moving outside the compartment door. Then a cold, rotting hand wrapped itself around the door frame.

_“Give up the boy, woman.”_

_“NO! I will never give up one of my boys!”_

_“I have promised you to one of my most trusted woman! Do as I say, or I’ll help him break you myself!”_

_“Never!”_

_“Fine, Imperio!”_

_“Never!”_

_“Stupify!”_

_A scream._

 

Hermione saw Harry hit the ground, cramps wrecking his body. She felt ice seeping into her veins, the auras of her friends dimmed the longer the creature was lurking in the doorway. And the being itself…it had no aura, it was as if the thing didn’t exist within nature’s laws. As if magic itself refused to accept its existence.

Then there was silver light. And warmth. And the creature was gone.

The man, Lupin, had woken up. He knelt by Harry’s unconscious form, waving his wand, muttering healing spells. Soon enough Harry’s eyes fluttered open, shining bluer than the sky itself: “What was that thing?”

“That was one of the Dementors of Azkaban. They seemed to look for someone,” the ragged man answered.

“Lestrange and Malfoy,” whispered Hermione, “It was in the paper. They escaped last night.”

“Merlin. They must be desperate to send for the Dementors so early,” Lupin muttered under his breath, just barely loud enough to be heard.

Hermione knew nothing to say to that. She agreed, yes, they were desperate, but in her opinion, they had every right to be. But that did not justify allowing the Dementors to board the train unsupervised. She doubted that Harry was the only one badly affected, just looking at Ginny and Luna was enough. Both second years looked shaken, and so very scared that the non-being would return. Nothing, not even the light and warmth of the compartment could soothe that fear. And if she were quite honest with herself, Hermione was rather tempted to join them in their fear. But right now someone needed to keep a level head. And with none of the Slytherins – not counting the still out of it Harry – present, that role fell to her.

She would have to save her tears for another day.

 

_“The Will”_

_By Alexandre Desplat_

_(from “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 1”)_

Draco had felt shaken ever since the Dementors had showed up. Right now, even in the warming comfort of the Great Hall he felt cold and distant. Even within the ranks of Slytherin house, he felt exposed and open to attack. Thankfully he had Daphne and Harry with him, or he would have completely collapsed. The Dementors had come onto the train right as he left the Slytherin train car to use the facilities. His knees had given out and he could only curl up in on himself and cry. That’s how Theo had found him and dragged him to Hermione.

The Lady Ravenclaw had all but force fed him chocolate, claiming that she knew first hand that it worked. When Draco had turned to Harry for help his friend had simply held up his own bar of chocolate to show that he wasn’t off any better.

They had stayed like this until the train had reached Hogsmeade station, where Daphne had caught up with them. Apparently Blaise had dragged Regulus ahead to show him to the horseless carriages. Daphne had stayed behind, sorely fed up with Blaise’s attitude of avoiding Harry that he had shown since the start of the summer holidays.

Draco himself had wondered why Harry seemed so calm about his best friend avoiding him, and he would perhaps still be wondering, had Hermione not been intercepted by Professor Flitwick in the Entrance Hall. The tiny professor had seemed a weird mix of proud and secretive, refusing to tell Hermione where she was going.

Draco himself had long since gotten used to secrets being kept from him, but never before had he seen a friend in that situation. On the other hand, knowing Flitwick, it probably wasn’t anything dangerous. At least he tried to tell himself that, but with the Dementors’ cold still lingering in his bones, he couldn’t help but worry.

The hand on his shoulder shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did. He turned to see Harry sheepishly holding a newspaper segment towards him: “It’s probably going to be on the front page again tomorrow, but I think you should know this now.”

 

Blaise shot up in bed. Another nightmare. But this one had been different. Because now he knew. What he had assumed to be another person’s – specifically Harry’s – nightmare, had turned out to be a creation of his own subconscious. Not quite a dream, but not lucid thought either. It was as if his own mind was screaming at him, wanting him to realize something. He couldn’t figure out what. He hadn’t talked to his mother about it, at first unsure of how to explain, later angry at her for taking Sirius’ disappearance so…calmly. As if it didn’t bother her in the slightest.

He looked at his hands. The creature markings were showing again. They were black tattoos of mostly Sumerian, some Aramaic writing. The symbols mostly described who he was and who his parents were. He couldn’t read it all yet, as he had only started to learn when they had shown up at age eleven, but he knew that somewhere on his skin was the description of his father. And that was disconcerting, to say the least.

The creature markings themselves were disconcerting, or rather, the fact that they were showing was. The marks only appeared when the person in question was either weakened by magical exhaustion or their creature side was very close to the surface. For werewolves that meant the full moon transformation, for Veelas it meant they were about to show their true appearance. And for incubi…well mostly it meant they were hungry or about to feed. Ever since he had turned thirteen Blaise had woken up every morning covered in them. And now, with those weird hallucinations. He just didn’t know what was going on anymore.

Sure his mom – or rather dad at the moment – would know. But Blaise didn’t want to talk to this parent about it. This felt so incredibly private. Not that Angiolo didn’t have him figured out anyways.

The suspicion that his father knew what was going on with him solidified in Blaise’s mind when a package arrived the next morning. A small leather bound journal, with his father’s name engraved into the spine. The accompanying card only said: “This will probably answer all your questions.”

“That looks like a diary,” Harry said, pointing out the obvious. Blaise felt a rush of guilt at the awkward conversation starter. He really had pulled away from Harry, especially yesterday.

“Yeah, Angiolo sent it,” Blaise answered, forgoing a sarcastic comment. Harry had offered him a free pass on yesterday’s douchebaggery, without demanding an explanation. Blaise wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, much less annoy the giver with unjustified sass.

“You sure you wanna read it?” Harry asked.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you know what happened last time someone read a diary,” Harry gave a shit-eating grin.

With a roll of his eyes Blaise turned back to the book and started to read.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as always, feed-back of any kind is appreciated. I hope you liked it, and chapter 3 is already being worked on.  
> See, ya, Crimson out.


	3. “Pie or Strudel” by James Newton Howard (from "Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t updated since the beginning of March. It is now, the beginning of September that I write again. Why? Two things. Shortly after my last update I was invited to a job interview. Then another, and another. Long story short, after much drama, I am now training to become a nurse. But there is a six month trial period where they can kick you off the course without any trouble. And, me being me, my anxieties kicked in and I spent the last six months obsessively studying, because I want to keep that job, goddammit. Only now did my anxiety let off enough for me to actually type out a coherent sentence. And work on this piece of work again.  
> Anyways, new update, have fun.

_September 2 nd, 997_

_~~Dear Diary,~~ _ _Sorry, but that sounded terribly wrong. I mean, just because I can turn into a girl now, doesn’t mean that I have to write like one. Polaris already gives me enough crap about my handwriting, he doesn’t need any more ammunition against me. And yes, I know you’ll read my diary the moment I’ll leave it out of my sight, don’t deny it, Black._

_It’s times like this when I dislike being in close friends with not one, but two Slytherins, three if you count Professor Slytherin. They always, always, put their noses where they don’t belong. Knowledge is power, and all that. But, I have proven that I can make good choices in friends too, I mean, I did befriend not just one, but two fine, strapping young Gryffindors who would never dare to read my diary without my permission, much less let anyone else read it. (Yes, I am still looking at you, Polaris)  
_

_To be honest, I haven’t written a diary ever before. This journal was originally my dream journal from Divination class. I dropped the subject in sixth year, and ripped out the (very few) used pages. I only started writing because of what happened today._

_It started out like any_ _2 nd _ _of_ _September would. We went down to the Great Hall, had breakfast, Professor Ravenclaw handed out our schedules, when the most intriguing thing happened! There was a swirl of shadows and a man suddenly stood in front of the head table. He said something I couldn’t hear. When he realized where he was, he said into the stunned silence: “Don’t look at me, I’m just about as confused as you are.”_

_Then he turned around, and let me tell you: He was a sight for sore eyes. He wore robes that seemed simple, but they were made from fine materials. And his face, oh, by magic, it was gorgeous. His hair was black and well taken care of, and he held himself like a noble would._

_So, then Professor Ravenclaw said: “You are from a place far from here,”_

_And the stranger smiled (and what a smile it was), and answered: “So far, I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe me if I told you Lady Ravenclaw.”_

_Now, Professor Ravenclaw isn’t a woman who is easily surprised, much less impressed, but she tilted her head in that way she does when a student makes a particularly clever remark. So, everyone was staring at her, wondering what she would do. We were all quite let down when she simply smiled, and went on her way._

_Then, Professor Gryffindor got up and led the man outside. And now, I’m only repeating what Polaris and Adalaine told me. So, everyone’s favourite Slytherin prefects sneaked after them. Professor Gryffindor showed the stranger into his office, and all the two could hear was: “We expected you to arrive a bit later,” and then the door fell shut._

_After that, the day went along as usual. Unfortunately, this year’s Defence against the Dark Arts course had fallen off the curriculum as old Professor Emrys had died over the summer and it is apparently quite impossible to get a new teacher on board within a fortnight’s time. And with Professor Gryffindor already teaching Duelling AND Care of Magical Creatures, he only had just enough time to take on the lessons from the first to fifth year. But not without handing over most of his Headmaster duties to Professor Slytherin, and I only know THAT because I heard Professor Ravenclaw complaining about it to Professor Hufflepuff, saying that “those two will work themselves into an early grave for this school.”_

_But back to the important stuff:_

_So, at dinner that night, Professor Gryffindor got up and introduced the stranger: “We were quite surprised this morning by our newest faculty member. He has developed a new version of magical transportation, which our wards interfered with. So he appeared quite abruptly in the Great Hall, and not, as he had planned, at the Castle Gates. But please, welcome our new Defence teacher, Professor Altair Ajam.”_

_Now, I guess the whole “we expected you later” comment makes much more sense. Ajam is an Arabic name. Even with the aid of magic it takes a while to travel from Arabia to Scotland. Especially if you consider that only few houses that side of Jerusalem actually have fireplaces. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I want to see the land of my kin again one day. Well, technically we – the Lilim Demons – are from Sumeria and Mesopotamia. My particular tribe had settled in Bagdad. Anti-creature movements became overwhelming within the magical community there. Many female magical beings were sold as slaves. I myself was born in captivity. My mother, with her waning powers, helped me escape. Her dying words to me were that I was to be free. And thus I ran into the desert, not caring for my survival as long as I didn’t die in the hands of my captors. For days I wandered the sandy dunes, in a haze, only held together by my desire to put as much space between me and my prison as possible._

_That is how Professor Slytherin found me, delusional from thirst and hungrier than I had ever been. He took me in when he had no obligation to. He took me to Scotland, where he raised me as his own. I am still rather amazed by how people perceive him as cold when he really is anything but. Calculating, but not heartless._

_I just read over the last few paragraphs again. To my astonishment it sounds more dramatic than it was, and yet so very detached from my own emotions. And yes, by now I am seventeen and over eleven years have passed since that day in the desert, but thinking of my mother’s death still brings tears to my eyes. The only difference now is that I am actually willing to talk about it now, be it only on paper to be read by me or someone else one day._

_But back to Professor Ajam. I discussed our newest teacher with Garrick, and he said something rather strange. “He is much further from here than just Arabia,” is what he said._

_It’s rather interesting how much his Dark Elf blood lets him see. Sometimes, I am certain, Garrick Ollivander can see the very fabric of magic itself._

_Knowing this, I asked whether Garrick meant that our new teacher was perhaps from another realm that he was perhaps a full-blooded creature, perhaps even a full-blooded Elf of some kind. It would have certainly explained his power to appear anywhere at will. Garrick replied that he wasn’t sure, but that both Fate and Magic had woven their threads tightly around him._

_At that point Miranda interrupted, and said: “Well, if I was an all-powerful deity, I would also wrap my threads tightly around him. Look at the man, anyone would be a fool to let an Adonis such as he slip through their fingers.”_

_I often wonder how someone as free-spirited, flirtatious, yet creative and kissed by the muses as Miranda Ravenclaw, can be related to the ever-serious, ambitious, and studious Helena Ravenclaw. Much less the larger than life Rowena Ravenclaw herself. On the other hand, Miranda stays true to her heritage by pursuing knowledge, even if it rarely is knowledge of the academic kind._

_To get back to her comment, Garrick only scoffed to that, and replied in that ever eccentric way of his: “Not all of us plague desires of the flesh.”_

_Miranda, as is her typical fashion, was neither offended nor deterred and gave back: “Not all of us have the advantage to be free of earthly lust. Besides, with the way Angiolo is staring, I daresay he agrees with me.”_

_Now, please let it be noted that I dislike repeating my own speech word for word. On the other hand I will not make a habit of lying to my own diary, or even withhold the truth from these pages. Therefore, I believe my purpose is suited best if I just write down what I said, for the words still ring true: “Of course I agree. That man is both attractive and has that certain quality of mystery only few persons possess. And, I must add, he makes my more…shadowy side sing in pleasure of just looking upon him.”_

_“Truer words have never been spoken,” agreed Miranda, entertained. Well, only so long as Garrick pointed out that I didn’t mean salacious fantasies when I said “shadowy side”, but my incubus nature._

_That, interestingly enough, had her uncharacteristically thoughtful; “You know, it is almost time for your mate to be drawn to you. It might be that he is indeed the one.”_

_“Are we discussing Angiolo’s romantic entanglements? Because if we are, I want to add my own two knuts,” we all startled when Polaris shoved himself in between Miranda and her seat neighbour, his plate still half filled._

_“What are you even doing here? Dinner’s not even halfway over yet,” hissed Garrick._

_Polaris Black, let me tell you, is far from a stickler for the rules. But even he would not break formal etiquette and stand up from the table in the middle of a meal, just to come over and chat. He ought to have a cogent reason, and reasons he had, although not the kind we expected._

_“Well, as it is, it just so happens that one Octavian Slytherin is returning from his studies abroad next month and Adalaine has not shut up about it for the last two days. As I found that dismemberment and consequent murder at the dinner table is rather frowned upon, I decided to join your merry discussion of Angiolo’s sexual exploits.”_

_Yes, that is what he said. Why I am still shocked about Polaris’ utter aloofness when saying absolutely outrageous things, even after almost seven years of friendship, I do not know._

_“Then why, pray tell,” I snapped, “aren’t you bothering your own heart’s desire. Caliburn does look rather forlorn at the Hufflepuff table with Ludmilla all caught up with her dorm mates.”_

_Now, I could tell you in great detail about Polaris’ ensuing tale of woe, but I will cut it short. Polaris has been in love with Caliburn Peverell for the better half of our school years. Caliburn himself does very much reciprocate his feelings. Now the only hindrance to their epic love story that will have historians forever crying with emotion (and frustration), is Horatio Peverell. Horatio and Polaris have been pretty much raised together. Polaris had been saved from a torturous exorcism at the hands of the Catholic Church by Horatio’s father Jesaia Peverell._

_Their friendship is one for the legends, so they say, right up there with the bond of Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor. I would agree were it not for the admittedly insignificant fact that our esteemed founders are sharing their hearth and their bed, whereas Polaris desires no such things from Horatio, but from his younger brother, Caliburn._

_What Polaris fails to notice in his plight to bring love and friendship together without destroying one or the other, is the fact that Horatio is very much aware of who has been sharing his younger brother’s bed. Not only that, but he ardently supports his best friend, and little brother as they stumble towards their happily ever after._

_But still, Horatio’s perceived ignorance of their courtship has been the topic of several whining sessions of both Polaris, and Caliburn. Much to the distress and ever-growing annoyance of their friends._

_All in all, it was almost time to head back into our respective houses when Polaris remarked that he found that Professor Ajam and he looked alike, both sharing dark hair and light eyes. I must strongly disagree. Perhaps it is because I am biased, as I have seen Polaris in less than flattering states more often than I care to admit, but I think that not only is Professor Ajam much more handsome, his eyes are also much more intriguing._

_Polaris’ eyes are a pale blue, like the colour of a winter morning. And yes, that is the phrasing Caliburn uses when waxing poetry about Polaris (which is his second favourite thing to talk about, after whining about Horatio). Whereas Professor Ajam’s eyes gleam like silver sickles, from his dark and handsome face even from across the hall. It makes me want to get up close and stare into them until I can say for certain what shade they are. Which, again, isn’t weird, as I am a being that thrives on physical contact. Usually I just feed off of the passing lust of people around me, or platonic touches I receive from my friends. To have such a strong reaction when I haven’t even met the man properly is a first one for me._

_As I lay here on my bed, staring at the soft light of the candle that lets me write, I long for the words to properly describe how I feel about Altair Ajam without sounding lovesick. I know that I am inappropriately besotted for only having looked the man from afar for maybe five minutes in total. On the other hand he intrigues me. Everything that was said about him would make me want to talk to him on a normal day, no question. But my interest hadn’t been sparked by his no doubt extraordinary magical prowess. No, I felt fascinated by his eyes. His hair. Not so much the hair itself but the way he seemed to take care of it, yet seem to care little if it was all over the place. His posture, that made him look regal, yet seemed off on him somehow. The more I look, the more I can point out contradictions in his person. And my incubus tells me to get closer, so figure out every last one of them until I can see the whole puzzle that is Altair Ajam._

_The candle has burned down. It is time to put the diary aside, but I fear sleep will evade me as I wonder about our new teacher. One thing is certain, I am looking forward to our first Defence lesson of the year._

“And that was all she wrote,” Blaise said, trying for nonchalant and ending up somewhere between riveted and terrified. This was the first time he had gotten so much as a sentence about his father. Except his mother’s promises of “I loved him, still do.” Words that were meant to be reassuring, but felt like a betrayal against Sirius. Sirius, who was a weird mix of father and brother, but more of a father ever since Regulus had turned up. Sirius, who loved, hell, all but worshipped Angiola, or Angiolo. Who loved Blaise’s mother, father, parent with all that he could give, and Sirius Black had a lot to give. And Blaise would chose him over his deadbeat, unknown, long-dead father anytime. Which was why he felt doubly worse for being excited about finally clearing up that last secret about where he had come from. Because why should he feel curious about a virtual stranger, who just so happened to share part of his DNA, when he already had everything he could ever want out of a family?

He looked at Harry. Another reason to feel bad (he felt bad about a lot of things, these days). Harry, who didn’t have a clue as to why Blaise had been avoiding him. Harry, who didn’t ask, despite it obviously eating at him. And the one person Blaise had always felt comfortable with. But right now, he felt like he was balancing on a thread of spider silk over an abyss of darkness. And if he fell…he feared what might happened between him and his best friend. What would happen to Harry, period. Because Blaise had a gut feeling he’d enjoy every second of the fall. He wasn’t sure what the fall would entail, but it felt more like a step into a new life. But he dreaded what it could mean for Harry. He didn’t know all the details. And until that changed he wouldn’t take the leap, because he was willing to do many things, but risking to harm Harry – or any of his friends, but especially Harry for some reason – was out of the question. He’d rather take Gryffindor’s Sword (now lovingly polished and displayed in Godric’s bedroom) and ram it through his heart than let his loved ones come to harm. Although, scratch that. He’d burn down the world if it meant no one would hurt that special little group of people. It was a scary thought. A dangerous thought. But he’d always been tempted by dangerous things. Present company included.

 

_L’appel Duvide_

_“The call of the Void”, the irrational need to jump off of high places._

Hermione was sitting in the library, enjoying a book on obscure 13th century household charms, when she heard the chimes of bells settle down next to her. The jingles continued like wind chimes in a slowly abating breeze, until they fully settled into the occasional clinking. When the presence next to her calmed enough to let her aura seep into the air around her (a beatific silver blue), she turned to acknowledge her:

“Hello Luna”

“Hello Lady Ravenclaw,” came the whispered answer.

“Why are you here?” Hermione asked, genuinely interested.

“To dispel some pesky strings,” Luna was still whispering, like someone trying not to be caught breaking the rules. But perhaps that was what she was doing, breaking the rules.

“So I should be elsewhere?” Hermione guessed, not yet wanting to call Luna out on it, who knew how that would affect things.

“You are where you should be, but there are better places for you to be. The when is too early, but if we kept following the rules, the damage might be too bad to reverse. There’s still time now,” whispered Luna, her eyes misty. Hermione guessed she was being purposefully obtuse to avoid alarming whatever entity controlled her sight.

Hermione carefully put the book into her bag, before standing up and holding out her hand: “Can you show me a better place to read then?”

Luna’s smile was even more beautiful than her aura.

As Hermione was following her skipping friend into the Great Hall, she noted the different auras of her friends leaving traces all over the castle, intertwining and creating a net of magicks. Splashes of Daphne _– pastel green, the taste of pistachio frosting in the back of her throat, green, green, sugary smell, but refined, reserved, but sweet, green, green, GREEN, moonstone?, Moonstone. Moonstone!, moonstone? –_ and Draco – _silver, silver, blue, silver, gold, Gold, GOLD, mint, thyme, nightsky, silver, GOLD, platinum? –_ were fighting against each other, battling for dominance.

Theo’s bursts of _sugar, caramel, sugar, good, good, free, finally free, colours, as many as I can, but blue, free blue, beautiful blue, blue, and teal, and turquoise, and blue, blue, BLUE SKIES! WITH RAINBOWS! YES, RAINBOWS!_ were grounded by Hermione’s own _lavender, lilac, scent of paper, scent of honey, wind in the willows, wind in her hair, lilac?, lilac!._

Regulus was perhaps the most interesting with his aura slowly gaining colour and life again, especially ever since he started reading the Alchemy Journal by Flamel ( _Black, so black, sad, lonely, but no longer, Silver, yes, silver, and RED, no, not red, COPPER, YES COPPER!, and books, and air after rain, and potato chips, yes, SPICY, MESSY, want it, freedom, light, and COPPER!_ ) it reminded her of Harry’s when she first met him, still looking for a form other than the night sky, other than a canvas for others, and Draco’s, who was still arguing with himself who he wanted to be. But overall, Harry was the only one so far to find a balance ( _iron, grey, silver, swirling like a storm, MAGIC, FREE, STORM, electricity, and lightning, and winds, and Blue, no, teal, no emerald, no blue!_ ).

The twins where pure chaos and only recognizable by their scent of fireworks and candy. Even Cedric wasn’t quite as settled, jumping from yellow to gold, and herbs to wild flowers, but in the end one of the less conflicted and restrained in his whims.

Perhaps the most settled magic was Blaise, _Black and Gold, a swirling mass, smoke and shadows, whispers in the night, a whisper of silk, too mature, not yet, but Roses, scent of Roses. Black and Gold_.

The magic that made her the saddest was Ginny’s. Still there were dark veins that ran through her aura, but were slowly absorbed into the red, which had gone from crimson to something darker, changing shades like a ruby turned under a light. It was getting better. But something would always remain. All they could try was to ease the pain.

Hermione was so absorbed in observing her friends’ auras mix together, that she didn’t notice an unfamiliar one until she almost bumped into the person it belonged to.

_Earth, green, brown, golden light, fresh cut grass, green, brown, bits of grey, silver, gold, and copper, stones, sand, earth, damp smell, musky smell, smell of herbs, of earth, of plants, smell of life, taste of life, colour of life, blossoms blooming, decaying and becoming nurturing ground for new life, a circle, life, earth, earth, EARTH._

Hermione had never felt anything like it. The closest she had ever come was perhaps Harry. Was this another elemental? Had another Spirit King re-joined the world? But before she could say anything, the person (boy, red, tie, Gryffindor?) stuttered out an apology and ran off.

_“Hot Liquorice”_

_By Dick Walters_

_(aka “The Boggart Scene” from “Prisoner of Azkaban”)_

“Intriguing, isn’t it?” asked Professor Lupin. He had led the class into the teacher’s rec room, where they first encountered Professor Snape. And then a shaking, and hobbling wardrobe, that was clearly containing something rather nasty.

“Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?” he continued.

“That’s a boggart, that is,” said Dean Thomas, one of the more pleasant Gryffindors.

“Very good, Mr Thomas,” said Lupin before continuing his line of questions, “Now, can anybody tell me what a boggart looks like?”

Harry, pleasantly surprised by having a teacher actually capable of teaching DADA for once, blurted out: “No one knows. Boggarts are shapeshifters, turning into whatever frightens the watcher the most. That’s why they’re so-”

“Terrifying, yes,” Lupin turned back to the class at large, “Luckily a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart.”

They then went on and practised the incantation, before Lupin felt satisfied with their pronunciation and went to explain how to use the charm: “As you’ve probably guessed the incantation alone is not enough, what really finishes a boggart off is laughter. The charm makes the boggart assume a shape you find truly amusing, let me explain…ah, Neville, would you join me, please?”

Neville stepped forward, looking timid and shocked at having been chosen to demonstrate the charm before the class. Harry’s mind flashed back to how Professor Snape had lashed out at the boy, without any good reason. At first Harry had chalked it up to Snape being typically unpleasant to typical Gryffindors, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember an occasion where Neville Longbottom had been anything but polite and quiet, if perhaps a bit clumsy. Still, Neville was a lot more pleasant than say Weasley, Brown, and Potter (or the Golden Trio, as they like to call themselves).

Confusion turned into horror when Lupin asked what Neville’s greatest fear was and the boy answered “Professor Snape”. Lupin also adapted a shocked expression before schooling his features and smiling at Neville: “He is rather frightening, isn’t he?” After a short pause he continued: “And I believe you life with your grandmother?”

“Yeah,” said Neville, “But I don’t want the boggart to turn into her either.”

Lupin smiled, before turning to look at the wardrobe considering. He then turned back to Neville, still smiling: “It won’t. Now, Neville here’s what I want you to do,” then he leant over to whisper something into the boy’s ear, before he asked, “Can you do that?”

Neville looked insecure before Lupin nodded and answered: “Yes,” before releasing the boggart.

The boggart stalked forwards, every bit as imposing as the real potions professor. It was halfway towards Neville when the boy shouted: “Riddikulus!”

Black robes became a green dress and a fox pelt scarf, black hair was pinned underneath a gargantuan fleece hat, topped by a stuffed vulture, a wand became a large red handbag.

The class exploded into laughter.

“Wonderful, Neville, wonderful. Okay, to the back, Neville. Everyone else form a line.”

After a lot of shoving and slapping at each other, the class had formed a semi-decent line. Lupin said: “I want everyone to picture what they fear the very most and turn it into something funny.”

The class’s fears were perhaps a bit childish, but they were dealt with in ways that had the entire class in stitches. Harry looked forward to his own turn, even though he had no idea how to turn his fear into something funny.

_A rotting hand wrapping around the door frame, a bone marrow freezing cold, screams, his mother, then – blackness._

How do you make fear itself less frightening? How did one turn depression into something funny?

Maybe the boggart couldn’t actually copy a Dementor’s abilities. Hermione had said Dementors were non-beings. Boggarts seemed – if shapeless – enough like a being. So Harry focused on the Dementor’s appearance to make it funny – which was easy enough - and was therefore completely unprepared when blood-chilling cold filled the room.

Before anyone could do anything though, Professor Lupin had already jumped between him and the boggart. For a short moment Harry could see a round silvery sphere before Lupin turned it into a deflating balloon and banished the boggart back into the wardrobe. The class was laughing again.

Harry however left the room with two burning questions: Did Lupin think him weak after collapsing on the train? And, perhaps even more pressing: What had Snape done to Neville Longbottom, and was the Gryffindor the only person so badly affected by Harry’s head of house?

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is. Feed back is always appreciated. THIS CHAPTER WAS NOT BETAED

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, comments are a thing. A lovely thing that I would love to see in my inbox. If you liked the writing but are too shy to tell me, the kudo button is for you. If you don't like my writing, tell me by dropping a comment. I won't flame back, but try not to be insulting.  
> 


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